Midnight City (6 page)

7.
COMING STORM

STARS PEEKED THROUGH THE TREE
canopy high above the forest floor. Only the flickering light from the fire illuminated the campsite, but Holt was about to douse it. He built it as he always did, dug into a hole at the base of a tree, with limbs covering it. Doing it like that allowed the fire to still provide heat while drowning out most of its light and filtering the smoke. All to avoid detection. Not just from other kids, but from Assembly patrols as well.

As if on cue, the rumbling of distant explosions floated through the air, this time from the east. Strange, rhythmic percussive booms that hung in the air. The Assembly was still stirred up, it seemed.

“Excuse me,” a testy voice said from behind him. Holt turned and studied Mira, tied to a tree at the top of a small rise. He had secured the girl with rope, tying her around the waist and binding her hands on either side of the trunk. She wasn’t happy about it, but he didn’t particularly care. She had already escaped once, and he wasn’t taking any chances this time.

“Can you please make it stop staring at me like
that
?” Mira asked, nodding to Max, who lay in front of her, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, watching her like a prized bone.

“Sorry, but no,” Holt said, dousing the fire with a pile of leaves he’d assembled earlier to block the smoke from rising in a plume when it went out. “Max is just doing his job. He knows you’re his meal ticket.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“You know how much your bounty is?” Holt asked. With the fire gone, the camp was thrust into the dark; only the filtered starlight above provided illumination.

“All I know is it’s definitely less than I’m worth,” Mira replied. She was just a dark shadow now against the tree.

“It’s a tidy sum, the biggest I’ve ever seen.” Holt moved to his cot, straightened his bag out. “Gonna solve a lot of problems for me and Max.”

“Only if you can get me back to Midnight City,” Mira said with a smile in her voice. “A lot can happen on a long journey like that.”

“I’m not too worried, now that you’ve lost your little bag of tricks.” Mira’s pack, adorned with the δ, and all the artifacts it contained rested underneath Holt’s cot for safekeeping. “Your wanted poster says you’re a Freebooter. Carrying that many artifacts, looks like it’s true. I thought Freebooters got along well in Midnight City. How’d you piss them off so bad?”

“Getting a price on your head doesn’t take much these days,” she said bitterly. “But it sounds like you know all about that, though. If you need my bounty to solve your problems, you must be on the run,” she replied. “Who owns
your
death mark? Rebel group? The Menagerie? Some Midnight City faction?”

Holt frowned as he crawled into his sleeping bag, suddenly aware of the glove on his right hand. He didn’t like her figuring out his predicament. It was best this Mira Toombs knew as little about him as possible, that she saw him only as her captor. But it was his own fault. He’d made the remark about needing her reward money, and the girl was smart, she knew what conclusion to draw. He’d be more careful.

Survival dictated it.

The sounds of explosions rumbled through the night air again, like strange, reverberating thunder announcing the coming of a storm. It filled the space between the shadowy trees, rattled leaves in their branches. It sounded farther away now, though, which was a good thing.

“What are they up to?” Mira asked quietly, almost to herself. “Something’s had them jumpy for two days.”

“Three, actually,” Holt corrected her. “Some idiotic resistance group, probably. We’re not that far from Chicago, it’s probably the Blacksheep.”

“The Blacksheep Brigade has their hands full, they never leave the ruins,” Mira said. “And they’re not idiots, they’re good at what they do.”

“Which is what, exactly? Getting killed? You’re right, they’re great at that.” Holt made no effort to hide the contempt in his voice.

“They’re resisting,” Mira said firmly, “making a stand, you don’t respect that?”

Holt laughed. “Challenging the Assembly isn’t respectable, it’s suicidal. No one can beat them.”

“There’s always a way,” Mira said. “Always.”

Holt shook his head at the conviction in her voice. “Eight years since the invasion, if someone was going to pull it off, they’d have done it by now.” Holt rolled onto his back, stared up at the stars that he could see through the tree cover. “They crushed every military on the planet, subdued most of the population, all without lifting a finger. The only ones left to make your ‘stand’ are kids, most of them younger than us, and hardly any of them know anything about fighting. Not to mention we all seem more interested in killing each other than uniting and really facing them. The Tone takes more of us every day, and pretty soon, there’s not gonna be anyone left.”

“That’s easy for a Heedless to say,” Mira replied. “Someone who isn’t living with a ticking clock in their head, counting down the moments before they lose their mind.”

The words stung Holt, and his calm detachment melted away. He turned to the girl, could see her more clearly now in the dark. She was staring right at him.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” she went on, “to have the static inside your head, to have it growing and clouding everything. You don’t know the fear of hearing the voices … and listening to them slowly start to make sense. If you did you might be a little more motivated to find a solution rather than just hiding out here in the forest like a coward.”

Holt glared at her, felt the anger (and the old pain) form and course through him. “I know more about the Tone than you can imagine,” he said venomously. “I know more about it than anyone has a right to, trust me. This conversation’s done. We’ll get to Midnight City in three days, which means we’re going to move fast and hard. I suggest you get some sleep, unless you want to be dragged all the way there. I won’t have a problem doing it if I have to.”

Mira didn’t respond. He held her gaze until she finally looked away.

Satisfied, Holt rolled over. His hands trembled. He knew it would be a while before he could sleep. He wouldn’t let her see how much of an effect she’d had on him, though. He had to appear strong, in control.

He hated this anger, because it was always tied to the memories. They were harder to push away when he was angry.

To his right, Max whined slightly. He watched Holt with his big round eyes, tilting his head sideways as he did. Holt reached out and petted the dog, scratched his ears. Max was a good judge of Holt’s mood, and there was something about that that Holt liked. At least someone understood him.

When he withdrew his hand, the dog looked back to Mira, watching her like a hawk. Holt closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the sound of the wind in the leaves and the chirping of crickets. If he could calm down, maybe he wouldn’t dream about her tonight.…

8.
DREAMS

A YOUNG HOLT,
no more than twelve years old, exploded through the front door and out onto the lawn of the house they’d given his parents at Fort Connor. A quick glimpse of the living room clock as he ran past told him it was close to one in the morning.

Outside, the alert sirens were even more jarring. They were blaring all over the base, and he could see lights flickering on in windows up and down the street.

His sister, Emily, a tall brown-haired girl who was almost seventeen, stood with their father and mother at the edge of the house’s small lawn. His dad was already wearing his fatigues.

Holt saw more people filling the streets, struggling into their uniforms and clothes. Civilian wives and children, too, all coming to look, all confused.

When Holt reached Emily, she took his hand, put her finger to her lips, signaled him to be quiet.

His mother spoke with her soft voice, but it was shaky with a kind of nervousness Holt had never heard before. He didn’t like it.

A sound like rolling thunder reached them from far away. They looked toward the sound, past the buildings of Fort Connor to the skies above Denver. The sparkling lights of the buildings could be seen from the base. Masses of storm clouds had formed above the city … and they glowed in strange light. A dull reddish orange, almost like they were burning inside. Holt stared at them in wonder.

Everyone in the streets around Holt froze at the sight, listening to the long thunderlike rumblings wash over them. It wasn’t like any thunder Holt had ever heard.

His mother moved closer to his father, and he put his arm around her. Holt felt his sister’s grip on his hand tighten.

The glowing in the clouds grew, becoming brighter, the shades of red blooming vibrantly. The thunder rolling in from the city grew louder, too. Something was building; something was happening.

The clouds over Denver parted violently as a massive black shape exploded out of them.

Holt, Emily, and everyone else in the street gasped as it slammed straight into the heart of the city. An enormous fireball erupted where it hit, bellowing up into the night sky.

Seconds later … the sound of the impact hit them, a giant boom that shook the ground. People screamed; some fell to the street as if blown over. Emily moaned, her knees buckled. Holt held on to her tightly.

In the distance, the lights of Denver flickered once, twice … then went dark. Seconds later, so did the base, the lights up and down the street flashing out.

More sounds reached them, loud enough to carry over the distance. Pops and bangs, like firecrackers on the Fourth of July. But Holt knew they weren’t firecrackers.

The city itself could no longer be seen. Only bright flashes near where the ground must be … and yellow pinpoints of light that flared from the sky to the Earth like how his dad once described tracer fire from the war.

It seemed pretty clear. Denver was under attack. But … by what?

The realization broke the spell. The people all around Holt ran in a stampede either back into their houses or toward the barracks to gear up. Holt knew his father would go with them.

Holt’s mother had the same thought. She shook her head, gripped his shirt tight to keep him in place … to keep him with them. His father pulled her close, whispered into her ear. Holt couldn’t hear what he said, but his mother relaxed a little in his grip, shut her eyes.

Holt and his sister watched their father kneel down to them. Holt noticed how calm he seemed in spite of all that was happening, in spite of the panic in the street. It made him feel better, made him believe things would be okay. His father always made him feel that way.

He said he needed them to help their mother, to pack the car and get ready in case they had to leave. He asked if they thought they could do that.

Holt and Emily both nodded, held each other tighter. Their dad smiled.

He looked at Holt, studied him in a new way, like he was seeing different parts of him he’d never recognized before … or at least never needed to until now. After a moment, his father nodded, pulled something from a pocket, and handed it to Holt.

It was going to be for his birthday next week, Holt’s father said. But he’d decided he was ready for it now.

Holt stared at the object, a glittering, new red Swiss Army knife, full of different tools and blades. Holt smiled. His dad ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately. When he got back, his dad said, he’d show him how to use it. Then he hugged them tightly, Holt and Emily at the same time.

His father stood up. His mother’s eyes glistened. The sounds of explosions from the city were growing louder. Holt’s father pulled her close, kissed her … then he was gone, running down the street with the rest of the soldiers.

Holt gripped the knife in his hand as he stared after his father. He watched until he faded into the distance, until he lost sight of him on the darkened street.

It was the last time Holt ever saw him.

9.
BEST-LAID SCHEMES

EXPLOSIONS RIPPED THE AIR
above the camp and yanked Holt from his dream.

“What was that?” Mira asked in alarm, still tied, but awake and alert.

There it was again, the high-pitched rapid-fire booms of heavy plasma cannons. Holt recognized them instantly.

So did Mira. “Raptors…,” she said. “We need to get out of here.”

She probably wasn’t wrong. Holt leapt from his sleeping bag, scanned what little of the sky he could see through the treetops. It was still night: the half moon had risen high above them, raining silver light downward on everything.

He heard it again. Above and to the west, coming fast. More cannon fire. With a grimace, he reached behind him and yanked the SIG from his back. Max was next to him, whining slightly, sniffing the air suspiciously. Holt reached out to pet the dog …

… and a blue and white Raptor gunship screamed by overhead, visible for half a second through the canopy. Two of its engines were burning, trailing smoke behind its signature crescent-shaped wings. Max barked angrily up at it, but Holt just stared in awe. He had never seen a wounded Raptor, not even during the invasion when the military had mounted its brief, lackluster defense. What could have done that?

A second later, he had his answer.

Two more Raptors roared by above, plasma cannons flashing, firing after the first gunship. They were gone in a second, but there was something different about them, and Holt knew what it was immediately. Every Assembly aircraft or walker he’d ever seen had one thing in common: They were all painted blue and white. The patterns differed sometimes, but the colors never did.

But the two Raptors that just whipped by had not been blue and white at all.

They were a solid
red.

Holt listened to the sound of the cannons as they became fainter, and then heard the rolling boom of another crash several miles away. The damaged Raptor must have finally gone down.

He clutched the rifle tightly, breathing heavy, thinking.

“Did you see them? They were red!” Mira yelled down at him from the tree on the incline. Holt frowned. She almost sounded excited. “
Red!
What’s going on?”